


Yesterday’s Shadows Under a Black Paper Moon, Today We’ll Burn Them Down, Tomorrow We’ll Start Anew

by Glass_O_Lemonade



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soul Eater Fusion, Canon-Typical Violence, Descent into Madness, Ensemble Cast, Magic, Non-Chronological, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:00:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27242338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glass_O_Lemonade/pseuds/Glass_O_Lemonade
Summary: They thought they left the academy (and one another) years ago. Then... the disappearances began.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	Yesterday’s Shadows Under a Black Paper Moon, Today We’ll Burn Them Down, Tomorrow We’ll Start Anew

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween! A big thanks to everyone who's helped me with this story so far! I appreciate each of you & your support to the cackling moon and back.

_"A sound soul... dwells within a sound mind, and a sound body."_

-Maka Albarn, _Soul Eater_

* * *

The restroom door swings shut, and they're alone. Helen's gaze is sharp as she glares at her.

"What's your game, Hargreeves?"

"I-" She- what does she say? What _can_ she say?

Helen steps closer. Her stance is a threat within itself. "I have worked too hard for too long for you to jeopardize everything."

"Helen, I don't, I'm not," She's not given the chance to finish. Of course.

"If you ruin this for me, I _swear_ I'll take you down with me."

* * *

He is drowning.

He's drowning.

_He's drowning._

_H̵͈̉e̸̝̒'̴͚̾s̸̛͎ ̶͓̂d̴̆͜r̴̙ȍ̵͜w̴̻͠ṉ̷̀ȋ̵̮ṋ̵͑g̸͉͒.̴̞͐_

  
_̷̦͋H̷͇͝e̴̞͋'̷͕̈s̶̻͛d̸̘̓ṙ̷̞o̶̮ẇ̸̞n̷͓͊ǐ̸̢ǹ̴͉g̴̱͊.̴̥͑_

  
**_̷̩͗H̵͉̓e̷͈̓s̸̩̚d̴̯̈́r̶͎̍o̶̘͋w̴̳̑n̴͊͜i̴̛̮n̸̫͑g̴͔͂h̶͚̔é̸̪s̷̳̍d̵͚͝r̵̗o̴͚͆w̵̬̉i̵̮͗ň̸̰g̸̟͗d̶̰͑ṙ̴̼õ̷̹ẅ̶́ͅn̷̲͆i̴̯̔ň̸̢g̷̛͇d̴́͜r̶̯͆o̷̯̊w̸̛̼n̴̖̓ỉ̶͙n̷͕̊g̴̱̍.̸̧̈́_ **

**_He has never felt more alive._ **

* * *

_"As much as you must strive for individual greatness, and strive you must, for it won't come to you of its own accord. You must also remember that there is no individual stronger than the collective."_

-Sir Reginald Hargreeves, _Umbrella Academy_

* * *

Death's child appraises him. "Why should I grant you this request?"

"I'm the _best_."

"Yet, you appeal to _me;_ _not_ my father. You're not a death scythe, Five."

"No, I'm _better_ than Death's weapons." _Even the Old Man._

* * *

Oh. This is how he dies. At the hands of family.  


_ Look at us now, Dad. _

* * *

_"Using a weapon whose wavelength you're not in tune with is a physical burden, not to mention a mental burden."  
_

-Tsubaki Nakatsukasa, _ Soul Eater _

* * *

That night they sleep alone. Allison in their bedroom; Patrick in one of the guest rooms. She pulls the comforter of the master bed up, wraps it around herself tighter, tucks it under her chin. Sleep evades her for the longest time that night.

She _thought_ he understood. She _thought_ he respected her decisions, her career. She _thought_ she knew the man she married. Worse? She thought Patrick knew the woman he married. Evidently, she was wrong... on each account.

* * *

_ "We go in there as a united front. No more "Number One," "Number Two," bullshit. From now on, it's... Team Zero." _

-Diego Hargreeves, _Umbrella Academy_  


* * *

Diego knows he won't be able to wield his brother for long. He doesn't need soul perception to realize this. Despite his usual insults regarding the other's intelligence, he knows Luther's aware of this, too. However, what else can they do? They're both shit without a meister; Diego knows this, and he _hates_ it. Together though...

Diego's hands burn the moment Luther's transformation ends, as his skin meets the indescribable material of his brother's weapon form. They'll blister after this. Or worse.

_One good hit. All I need is one good hit._

* * *

His skin peels off like paint as it chips.

The moon cackles above him.

The air's hazy, smokey, thick.

He has no skin left to offer.

How long has he stood here?

Is his team alive? His family?

He raises a hand, dazedly inspects the sight before him.

A bubble of laughter springs forth, and he finds himself laughing. Laughing. ̸͇̔L̵̳͒ă̷̡ù̴̱ġ̶̫h̷͔̒i̶͉͌n̸̮̔g̵̰̓.̸̻̐

The ground shifts to a sea of blood, as his skin peels off like paint as it chips.


End file.
